


Et Tu?

by vials



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Angst, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 17:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14289714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: Suddenly she hated the way she felt she had to defend herself. She hated the way that she had to stand there and beg him for forgiveness, give him her excuses and try and make him accept that she was an adult, damn it, who made her own choices and could do what she damn well pleased.Also known asCharles Macaulay should learn how to knock, or perhapsCamilla Macaulay should learn how to lock doors.





	Et Tu?

The cruellest irony was that they hadn’t been doing anything particularly vulgar when Charles had walked in on them, evidently not expecting anyone to be in the room. Whether or not he had known the room was Henry’s couldn’t be said; from the looks of it he had simply walked into the first room he had seen, desperate for a moment to catch his breath, because the door opened and he had come in, closing the door behind him and leaning his head briefly against it. It was a solid three seconds before his shoulders tensed and he seemed to become aware of the fact he wasn’t alone in the room; of the fact that he had probably seen them on some subconscious level as he had walked in. 

By that point Henry and Camilla had untangled themselves, though they were still seated far too close on the bed, and Camilla had later admitted that really, the fact the two of them were alone in a dimly lit room would have been enough to doom them both. When that was considered it was easy to see how Charles might have seen it as vulgar after all – they were both fully clothed but by no means impeccably so, with Henry’s loosened tie and unbuttoned collar, and Camilla’s quick adjustment of her shirt to cover her bare shoulder. Her hair was messy and his looked no better; he was straightening his glasses as Charles turned around, and then the two of them had simply frozen, unable to do anything more. Both of them had the sense to stay quiet, knowing that there was nothing that could be said. Camilla had the decency to look shocked, or guilty, or perhaps some combination of the two; her lips were parted slightly, her eyes wide, a perfect picture of someone caught in the act. Henry, of course, was inscrutable. 

Charles stared at them both for a long moment. It was an impossible moment, the kind that could lead to anything. Charles was frozen in place and it seemed in those seconds that he was _capable_ of anything – anything aside from what he actually did, because somehow when he spoke he wasn’t yelling, and while his voice shook slightly it was low and dangerous and oddly calm. 

“At a funeral?” he asked, and Henry and Camilla could almost be convinced that this was all it was about; that this was the real issue at hand. “Really? I have to admit, I’ve never heard of grief as an aphrodisiac before.”

They stayed silent, though Camilla managed to unstick herself, reaching up a hesitant hand to smooth her hair down, pausing as though thinking better of it, wondering perhaps if it would add insult to injury, and then being won over by her urge to do something even if it was of no help. She threaded her fingers through her hair and tugged it into place, and Henry could see her hand was unsteady. 

Charles had been looking at Camilla as he spoke; now his eyes turned to Henry. 

“I should have expected this from _you_ ,” he spat, before looking back to Camilla. “But never from you. My own sister! And after everything I’ve told you!”

“The fact that you would expect this from me but not from Camilla has certain unsavoury implications,” Henry said calmly. “Surely you see us as both equally capable of making our own decisions?”

“You know damn well what I meant by that,” Charles snapped, and finally his voice took on an edge of anger. “Sneaking around behind my back. Getting up to all kinds of… of…” Words seemed to fail him and he gestured vaguely at them, his face twisted in disgust. “Keeping all these secrets, hiding all this—this—”

“Immorality?” Henry suggested. “Promiscuity? Sin? Listen to yourself, Charles. You’re not her father.”

Charles took a step closer. “Listen here, you–”

“Charles, _don’t_ ,” Camilla said quickly. She stood, taking a side-step away from the bed as though the physical distance from Henry would calm Charles down. Perhaps it worked; he didn’t look any less angry, but he had at least stopped advancing towards him. “Now’s not the time. Please, don’t make a scene. We can discuss it later.”

“There’s nothing to fucking discuss,” Charles spat out, noting the slight flicker that passed across Henry’s face, and then he had gone, turning on his heel and wrenching the door open without a second look. 

They sat in silence for several seconds after the door had closed, staring at it as though Charles might change his mind. They heard his feet recede down the hall, heard as he reached the stairs and stomped down them, sounding slightly unsteady. Even when his footsteps had faded they were silent for several more seconds, and finally Henry turned to look at Camilla, still standing where she had been before, her arms wrapped around herself as she chewed at her bottom lip. 

“I don’t mean to recite a cliché, but that could have gone much worse,” he said, and Camilla let out a harsh laugh.

“Oh, you just wait.”

Henry’s voice seemed to have reminded her that Charles had definitely left. She didn’t entirely relax but she stopped hugging herself, her movements becoming looser again; she smoothed her hair and clothing and gave a sigh, turning to look at Henry. 

“He’s not going to let this drop,” she said, before glancing at the door and then crossing to perch on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know what he’s going to do.”

“Yell at us, I suppose,” Henry replied. He sat up properly, leaning against the headboard, and quickly put his collar up, fingers deftly untying his tie and beginning to redo it. “Or maybe he’ll stew for a while? That seems more like him. Surely he won’t start a brawl at a funeral.”

“You’d like to think so,” Camilla said, before frowning. “A _brawl_? I do hope not.”

“For my sake,” Henry asked, finishing with his tie, “or his?”

Camilla gave a small smile that failed to reach her eyes, and didn’t answer. 

“I should go and speak to him,” she said instead, standing again. “And you really should be resting. I suppose I’m a bad influence on you. How are you feeling?”

“I could be a lot better,” Henry said, “but I’ve also been a lot worse. Are you sure you want to go after him? Perhaps it would be better to let him think it through.”

“Thinking it through won’t lead him to any better conclusions,” Camilla sighed. “I have to, Henry. I’ll come back to tell you how it goes, if you like, but I doubt it’ll be good.”

He looked at her for a long moment and Camilla wondered what he was picking up on. She was nervous, but that was hardly surprising – there was a reason they had been keeping the nature of their relationship a secret from Charles, after all. Truth be told she couldn’t think of a worse time for the secret to be revealed, but it had been, and nothing could be done about it now. Right now she just wanted to speak to Charles, some naïve part of her thinking that if she could just talk to him, one-on-one, without Henry right there to further antagonise him, she might be able to smooth things over. She knew of course that there was no hope of that, and she knew that the dread pooling in the pit of her stomach spoke of the unspeakable damage she had always feared, but she couldn’t give up yet. She had to try.

“Be careful,” Henry eventually said, the words simple, said with no extra weight, but somehow Camilla knew why he seemed so concerned.

“He’s just upset,” she said, reflexively, and the flicker across Henry’s expression made her realise how defensive it was, how it sounded, and she quickly turned for the door, leaving with as much haste as her twin. 

She found Charles outside under the tree, thankfully alone. It was beginning to drizzle with rain but he showed no sign of coming inside; after observing him for a few moments from the kitchen window Camilla slipped out of the back door before anyone could corner her and start talking, crossing the wet grass to reach him. He spotted her as she approached and alternated between shooting glares at her and kicking at the trunk of the tree, and Camilla was reminded strongly of their childish squabbles over toys or music to listen to. The memories gave her the briefest rush of optimism, as though this could be solved with a simple silence and some space, but as Charles looked at her again and she saw how icy his eyes were she thought that the brief flicker of hope, extinguished immediately upon meeting his gaze, had been exceptionally cruel. 

“Charles,” she said, but found she couldn’t say anything else. 

“Yes?” he asked, after several moments had passed in silence. 

Suddenly she hated the way she felt she had to defend herself. She hated the way that she had to stand there and beg him for forgiveness, give him her excuses and try and make him accept that she was an adult, damn it, who made her own choices and could do what she damn well pleased. She hated him for making her justify it and she hated him for the fact that she knew she wouldn’t dare say half of what she wanted to him; it was too risky, she didn’t want to set him off. She walked on eggshells and had done for who knew how long and she had no choice but to continue to do so now, even though she knew all too well that if Charles was going to get into one of his moods he would do so, regardless of what she had or hadn’t done or said. With that in mind she knew she could say whatever she wanted and probably not end up in a position that was any worse off, and with anyone else she would have done.

But this wasn’t anyone else. This was Charles. 

“Well?” he demanded, and she realised she still hadn’t said anything. 

“Why are you acting like this?” she finally said, and it was a far cry from anything she actually wanted to say. “You’re getting on like you walked in on much worse.”

“I’m sure if I’d been ten minutes later,” said Charles coldly, “I probably would have done.”

“And what of it?” Camilla asked, folding her arms, running with the brief moment of bravery. “Perhaps you should try knocking.”

“Perhaps you should stop whoring around at a funeral?” Charles shot back. “What about that?”

“Oh, shut up, Charles. Like it’s the fact it’s a funeral that’s bothering you.” She let the _whoring_ comment slide, knowing that was precisely what he wanted to shout at her over. “Why don’t you be a man and admit it’s about Henry? Or maybe it’s because we’ve been right under your nose the whole time and you’re so dense you never noticed. Or maybe you’re now wondering about everything else you missed? Who can tell! I know it’s a shock to find out that I am actually my own person, and not an extension of you, but it’s true. About time you figured it out.”

She felt light-headed from the outburst, the adrenaline briefly pushing her nerves aside. Charles looked delightfully gobsmacked, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard, and in a way Camilla could empathise – she couldn’t believe she’d said it, either. 

Finally Charles managed to recover, his slack expression replaced with that unpleasant glare again, his words clipped.

“After everything I’ve told you,” he said, taking a step closer, and for now at least Camilla held her ground. “After everything I’ve said about him, everything he’s been doing to me – to _us_ , to _everyone_ , it’s him you decide to get all cosy with? What the hell, Milly? I thought you were on my side.”

“It’s not about sides,” Camilla said firmly. “Since when was it about sides? We’re all equally guilty here, Charles. We’re all up to our necks in it. Since when were there sides to choose?”

“Since he started trying to pin the whole damn thing on me, that’s when!”

“Keep your voice down! For God’s sake, Charles, you have it all wrong. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“He’s a manipulative bastard, Milly,” Charles said, his words suddenly quick, as though he feared they might soon be overheard. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and then shook his head. “I’m telling you. He’s got the wool pulled over everyone’s eyes. Everyone but me, it seems, but God knows I fell for it for long enough. He sends me to take the fall, and he’s screwing you to keep you blind to it. Jesus. What an asshole.”

“Charles,” Camilla said, speaking slowly so he couldn’t mistake what she was saying, “you are quite literally insane.”

“Yeah?” Charles asked, laughing. He straightened up slightly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “We’ll see about that.”

Camilla watched as he strode off towards the house, her heart thudding in her chest and her breaths short with frustration. She hadn’t expected any miracles from the discussion, but she also hadn’t thought they would be even more at odds with one another than when they had begun. She stood where she was, grappling between anger and despair, and then finally let her breath out in rough exhale. 

“Screw you, then!” 

She clung to her anger for as long as it took her to slip back into the house, through the kitchen and towards the stairs. She had her lines rehearsed should anyone try to stop her – _it’s just all a bit too much, I’m sorry, I’m just very upset, I need a moment_ – but luckily nobody did; she made it back to Henry’s room without seeing another soul. She paused outside, waiting to hear if Charles had come back to vent his frustration, but there was no noise from within. She slipped inside and closed the door behind her, this time locking it, not giving a damn if anyone noticed their mutual absence and put two and two together. 

Henry was laying on the bed, above the covers, and to the untrained eye looked asleep. Camilla knew better but didn’t say as much; she slipped her shoes off and crawled up the bed next to him, laying down and being completely unsurprised when the apparently sleeping Henry moved slightly, slipping an arm around her and pulling her closer.

“It went well, then?” he murmured, and she nodded, gave a ragged laugh, and then closed her eyes against the stinging she could feel there.


End file.
